Sundance hated scenario cinema, where unpleasant events played out upon the silver screen of his mind in a non-stop loop, displaying endless variations of whatever awful thing that had just happened. All of the things he might have said differently, or done better, or how he might have handled a poor situation better—his brain showed him every conceivable possibility for how things might have played out if only he’d done this or that.
Even worse, some of the scenarios made a bad situation even more terrible, as if that were somehow possible. Violence. Outright cruel acts. Forcing Hollyhock to submit—making her cry—somehow getting her to grovel. He didn’t know how to deal with the most awful aspects of himself; in fact, he was surprised by them, terrified that they even existed. Sundance could only imagine how some found these power fantasies appealing, but for he himself, he found them sickening. It was distressing how his brain concocted these revolting outcomes.
Hardly flapping, Sundance flew in a general west-by-southwest direction. He didn’t fly dead south to find the railroad tracks, and then fly in a general westward direction, no. Once departed, he flew in a diagonal direction, because how hard would it be to miss Ponyville? Besides, this gave him a chance to see new territory and get eyes upon the lay of the land. All around him, the sky was empty, and he was alone. Nopony flew out this way, it seemed. The vast emptiness was intimidating, just mile after mile of endless blue that stretched in all directions, with a carpet of green laid out below.
How could this land stay so empty for so long? Further to the west, the Unicorn Range was dotted with farms, settlements, and rural communities of all kinds. It was populated. But this land—this sky—all barren. The previous Milord forbade settlement, and so this devastated land remained empty. Sundance was but a tiny speck all alone in the blue, a troubled speck tormented by his own thoughts. Alone as he was, there was nopony to save him, nopony to talk to, so the awful, terrible, horrible thoughts continued, and there was nothing he could do about them.
Was it possible for one to drown in sky?
Ponyville was a bustling city, more so than the last time he visited. A huge tent was erected at the edge of town, and Sundance wondered if some sort of circus or traveling show had stopped for a visit. But he wasn’t here for a circus, no. He was here to visit Princess Twilight, and maybe confess to her that he wasn’t leadership material. Maybe ask for some pointers, or how to gracefully bow out from his position, because this didn’t feel as though it would work out.
Pegasus ponies flew in flocks above Ponyville, including what appeared to be a weather team. Little pegasus foals flew in formation, no doubt learning the rules of the sky. The sky was well populated here, and his fellow pegasus ponies waved at him—though he was slow to wave back, with his thoughts being what they were. From above, it was easy to see that Ponyville would soon run out of room. Swamp to the south, Everfree forest to the east, Whitetail Woods to the west, and the mighty Canterhorn to the north. Expansion would mean cutting into the woods or draining the swamp.
Sundance was a pony blessed with an abundance of space, but had nothing to fill it.
Princess Twilight Sparkle’s Castle of Friendship looked different than the last time Sundance saw it, though he could not say how or why. It was hard not to look at it when visiting Ponyville, because it dominated everything. The thatched roofs and cosy cottages gave the city a certain charm, but the ginormous crystal castle disrupted all of that in some way. It was there, it existed, and did so with no regard for town planning or beautification.
Sundance stood at the bottom of the steps, looking upwards, and he hesitated. Why did he hesitate? He didn’t feel much like a baron at the moment, and Twilight had summoned a baron. The stairs seemed too long, too tall, and Sundance felt too small to mount them. While he stood there, procrastinating, one of the statues turned its head to look at him. Sundance could feel the statue’s eyes upon him—yes, this statue watched him somehow with lifeless stone eyes.
Word had it that Princess Twilight had no standing guard, and had no need of a guard regiment. Sundance wondered how a fight with a stone pony statue might go. Twenty-four of them guarded the stairs, a dozen on each side. Stone alicorns stood at the bottom of the stairs, and Sundance wondered if they could cast magic somehow. Twilight was a clever pony, and the Alicorn of Magic. If she wanted stone alicorn statues that could cast spells, surely, she could have them. She probably had no fear of spider season.
The princess could command statues, while he was stuck begging owls for help.
“Are you troubled, supplicant?” one of the stone alicorns asked.
“Yeah,” Sundance found himself replying. “I am. Had a rough morning.”
“Hmm,” the stone alicorn hmmed in a most equine fashion. “Might I suggest that you find a friend. If no friend can be found, please, enter the castle. A friend will be provided.”
“Actually, I’m here on business.” Sundance felt a little peculiar chit-chatting with a statue, but here he was. “How was your morning, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“The pigeons flew close,” the statue replied. “Too close for comfort. I was forced to issue a stern warning, and told them that I would reduce them to their constituent atoms if they attempted to use me as a toilet. The winged menace grows braver. They do not remember the last public demonstration.”
Sundance felt his eyebrows contract and his scalp grew tight. Poor pigeons. What might Fluttershy say about this? How would she feel? Or the citizens, for that matter? He reconsidered, and was thoughtful. Maybe that was normal here. Maybe a statue with the powers of disintegration was perfectly normal and nopony batted an eye during a ‘public demonstration.’ Ponyville was a weird place—possibly the weirdest in Equestria—and Sundance began to wonder what it might take to shock these ponies.
Another statue turned to examine him, and Sundance wondered if the stone sentinels suffered from boredom. The life of a statue. Did ponies such as himself strike up conversations with these guardians? Surely, they must. These statues could talk, they could be helpful, and seemed to have some limited ability to reason. Princess Celestia certainly didn’t have an army of talking statues… or maybe she did and Sundance just didn’t know about them.
“What’s it like, being a statue?” asked Sundance. “Do you ever get bored?”
“If we get bored,” one of the stone sentinels replied, “our Creator has us function as substitute teachers for a time. Then we long for the peace and quiet that comes with guarding the stairs. Never ask for excitement, lest one gets exactly what they ask for.”
“Indeed,” another statue said. “Students. Harrumph. Graffiti scribbling hooligans.”
Sundance could sense all manner of questions about the nature of life forming within his mind, potentially dangerous questions about existence and what life was, exactly. It was time to take his leave before he discussed his existential crisis with the stone sentinels—though he was certain that they would most certainly be excellent conversationalists. If they could teach a classroom full of foals, surely they could entertain his questions about the nature of life.
“I, uh, should be going. I am expected. It was nice talking to you. Good day.”
Upon passing through the doors of the castle, Sundance found himself in some well-appointed waiting room. How did he get here? That was unknown. Teleportation, perhaps. It was quite unsettling, to be in one place and then to suddenly find oneself in another. He was alone, though the waiting room had a dozen chairs. Magazine racks stocked with Friendship Weekly offered entertainment, and there were pamphlets and brochures aplenty.
There was a door, just one door, and it had no doorknob. Sundance found it hard to look at, and when he did so, his vision fuzzed over, which forced him to turn away. Well, the door was impossibly boring anyhow, and there was no point in looking at a door that had no doorknob. But, it was the only door out of this room. Sundance decided to ignore the door and to examine the many pamphlets and brochures.
The Confusing Friendship Dynamics of Gender caught his eye, but he didn’t bother to pick it up and examine it. It had a filly and a colt on the front cover, an adorable illustrative explanation of the contents of the pamphlet. The colt had stink lines wafting off of him, and the filly had big bugs—cooties, no doubt. Because colts were smelly and fillies had cooties. Quite without warning, Sundance felt a pang of nostalgia for his foalhood.
Friendship Without Pause For Friends Who Have Paws was the next pamphlet that he noticed, and the cover immediately caused him to experience a flood of emotions. An earth pony and a diamond dog stood together in a rainstorm, and the diamond dog held an umbrella over the earth pony. Such feeling from such a simple illustration. He thought of Corduroy, and then his nostrils detected the phantom odour of wet dog.
Friendship With Foals: It’s Not Weird. Sundance saw that it was written by Rainbow Dash, whose name dominated the space below the title. There was a photograph of Rainbow Dash and some other smaller pegasus filly with stubby, stunted wings. Something about the picture was quite touching, and one could almost see the friendship between the two.
Great & Powerful Friendships With the Mentally Ill: A Practical Guide by Trixie Lulamoon. Sundance checked out the cover and saw a picture of three mares all smooshed together in a group hug. It was touching, impactful, and made him aware that this was an issue that he’d never given much thought about. He was tempted to read it, but didn’t.
Then, with Paradox on his mind, Sundance snatched a copy of The Confusing Friendship Dynamics of Gender and promptly stuffed it into his saddlebags. Then he rubbed his right ear with his right wing, and wondered if maybe, just maybe, he should take the pamphlet about mental illness. Some of his residents had issues… like Hollyhock. And Paradox. Before he could talk himself out of it, he took a copy of Great & Powerful Friendships With the Mentally Ill: A Practical Guide by Trixie Lulamoon and it too was hastilly placed into his saddlebags.
The door opened and Sundance reacted like a foal with a stolen cookie jar. Why? Clearly, the literature was meant to be taken. A mare entered the room, a frumpy mare with an oversized sweater, and huge square glasses. He felt an immediate attraction for her, which was odd, really odd, because she was a scrawny bookworm. Yet, the curious attraction persisted, and Sundance was annoyed about it, because it showcased yet again that he knew nothing about himself. This mare was older and everything about her could be considered the exact opposite of conventional beauty standards—yet he felt the undeniable stirrings of physical arousal.
Life was confusing and made no sense.
Her magnificent monobrow crinkled as she introduced herself. “My name is Moondancer. You’re Sundance. We both dance upon different celestial bodies and—oh my sweet rubber library stamp, you smell bad. Whew. Alright, we can fix that. Blargh… please, come along with me for processing.”
“Processing?” he asked.
“Yes, you must be processed and undergo destinkification before you can meet with Twilight.” Moondancer’s eyes watered behind her thick, square glasses. “How, how is it that you’ve managed to cultivate such a magnificent stench? I am genuinely impressed. It makes me recall the Great Stinkening that happened here in Ponyville. What a day. What a glorious day.”
Moondancer moved closer, her woollen sweater rustled and crackled with static electricity. Sundance wrestled with attraction to her, the attraction that made no sense to him, and when she drew close, he tried to keep himself from squirming. Quite without warning, she pressed her moist, warm nose against his neck, and inhaled. This sent shivery tingles down his spine, and his left hind hoof thumped against the floor.
“I’m a skunk fancier.” Her words were warm and damp against his neck. “Things that smell bad draw my interest.” Sundance felt her nose slide along his neck and when she sniffed him again, he feared he might lose control of himself. “What a righteous reek you have. Fascinating.”
“Yeah,” he squeaked through strained vocal cords stretched tight with tension.
She pulled away, inhaled, and said, “Do not be afraid. The pitch and tone of your voice suggest intense fear. Processing is but a minor inconvenience. Follow me.”